


the first bloom of spring is always a defiance.

by gatheredfates (seafaringheart)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), Gen, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, aka how many greek motifs can we slap into this bad boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23796655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seafaringheart/pseuds/gatheredfates
Summary: Persephone, bringer of destruction, oh how he lamented thee as she was swaddled in radiant light. How he raged.
Kudos: 1





	the first bloom of spring is always a defiance.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this and you have NOT played to the end of shb, please turn around now. There are heavy spoilers.  
> I joined the WoL train and I regret nothing. You can find this work posted over @mortuislupus on Tumblr, (Kor's seperate blog) but my main ffxiv blog is @gatheredfates.

**i. before persephone, there was kore,**  
**as wild as a summer gale; a whirling fire.**

_amaurot, before the fall._

On a single world, the metropolis of lights littered the cityscape like stars, light and dark in perfect balance beneath the plumes of illumination and shadow, and the people of Amaurot knew nothing but peace. Capricious creation was unabated by rules or restrictions; an understanding that each should play their part to the betterment of the star. It was a land where whales swam in airy expanses and architectural wonders could be articulated as easily as breathing. How could they know what would befall them? _**How could they predict?**_

_Kore_ bathed beneath the starlight and warm air, naked feet swaying to-and-fro as jacaranda flowers fell from silvery hair, and when Hades looked upon her wicked in her whimsy, he was sure he could love no one else. Hers was the firm but gentle hand, the birth of flowers and the heat to melt the winter frost. His was the cool wit, carefully laid plans and elegant opulence, and when he spoke his taunt was met with her crooked grin.

“You’re making a reputation for yourself.”  


The fourteenth member of the Conclave — _the betrayer —_ as she slipped down from the branches each movement was less to preserve her modesty and more to protect the delicate dreams sprung forth from endless imagination. She met him eye to eye, amber hues on honey gold, and she was unafraid.

“Why would I worry about what anyone else has to say?”  


**Persephone,** bringer of destruction, oh how he lamented thee as she was swaddled in radiant light. How he _raged._

**ii. you’ve whet your teeth on the bones of those who came before you.**

_the first, lightwashed._

**_Feral woman. Amber eyes._** A reflection — _a refraction_ — if she were Kore, she was naught more than a shade; a cruel manifestation to the god of whom she became the sacrificial lamb, and Emet-Selch **hated** her. Hydaelyn had taken her pound of flesh, marring her with scar tissue and distrust, with one eye continued to stare coldly before him even as he extended his ‘welcoming’ arms towards compatriots all too eager to flourish their blades. It was all so trivially _boring_ after so many eons — far more acute than the fury he felt at her meddling.

“I thought that I might try to see eye to eye. To understand what drives the hero of the Source. To determine if our goals are truly incompatible.” _To watch as your beloved light tears you asunder; as it rips and disintegrates you._

The bold words that threatened to burst from Koret’s lips were silenced by the protection of her friends, but the contempt within her was unmistakable. The stupid girl glowered under her war-wounds and hatreds, her distain for her god, and it was all he could do smile.

Let the imperfections be erased. Her existence expunged like every fault who came before her.

**iii. at the edge of tartarus, she crumbles before the light.  
**

_mt gulg, radiant._

Holy ichor splattered itself across elegant marble, the momentary dark a betrayal to the people that the Warrior of Darkness might have brought the night. To say there was no humour there would be a most facetious lie — long had the notions of the girl with moonlight hair disintegrated into ash like the ruins of their beloved city, and in her doppelgangers she would die again ( _and again and again_ ). 

Emet-Selch stepped close and knelt before the shade, his calm explanations not a balm as it was sinking the knife ever deeper, and he could not help but revel to himself the myth of light reborn in the goddess’ puppet. _‘Persephone, she who causes death, how you outdo yourself.’_

“You will hunt the innocents to feast on their sweet, sweet aether,” he taunted, honey-gold watching the way molten light cast itself off her like solar flares; threatening to engulf her like a supernova, “Those few with the will left to fight will rise up against you. But before your absolute might, they will know despair.”  


“Not if I **_eat_** you first,” she snarled like Cerberus at the gates, iron chains around her neck, and the pathetic swing of a weakened hand earned naught more than bemused laugher — barely a recoil.  


“I would love to see you try.”

**iv. at the styx she is reborn. fleeting. ephemeral.**

_amaurot, the underworld._

At the fragmented edges of memoria eternal, she struggled against the inevitable; a battered, broken thing he might have almost taken pity on had her existence had not so otherwise been a blight. As she struggled one foot further than the next, her friends scattered like broken marionettes, the incredulous jeers that spilled from Emet was not akin to the same bewilderment he felt from the fourteenth all those years ago. Who was she to deny the wisdom of her peers; to forsake them, and he, in her stubbornness?

“Why waste your final moments in futile defiance? Weary wanderer — you’ve no fight left to fight! No life left to live!”

Yet still, even as the light brought her to her knees, the girl-turned-beast did not relent. Not even when her screams shot across evocation, and the light engulfed her in a sacrosanct glow. She fought because that was all she could do — because there was aught _else_ to do. The light collapsed on light like a black hole turned white until it expanded, throwing him back with a power he knew from an Amaurot once soaked in glory. 

It was then the screaming receded and the silhouette stood.

“You will not decide ** _our_** fate!”  


Three voices spoke in unison. A chimera remained. One side doused in crimson red, the other moonlight white. But it was the face that remained the same; two burning eyes instead of one, accompanied by a snarl all Koret’s own. For the first time, Emet balked. For all the times he convinced himself she was not, _Kore_ remained.

She would not forgive. Her love was the pomegranates long since left to rot, the underworld she had denied.

“Whatever it may be, this will end here.”

**v. you will not allow her to forget.**

_“Remember. Remember that we once lived.”_

Milennia on they stood across from one another in that self-same city, a moment frozen in time where even briefly the sundered and the unifier were people again. A shade could not know her fate; it would be a cruel jab for him to dictate it. So he asked it of her. He begged her to remember.

Kor stared back ever unafraid. Not so whole as to be complete, but lacking the light that sought penance on her body. She nodded once.

Hades conceded it to be enough. For the first time, he welcomed the endless sleep.

In the cold Underdark, beneath the churning waves, life bloomed in the sarcophagus of twisted steel and melted stone. In the ash, Persephone ushered in spring alone.


End file.
